Page 39 of Merciless Is My Crown

“Each mountain contains a den, a landing pad, and a warren of passages. The biggest one in the center was Zyghon’s, the king’s.” Torin pointed just to the right of that. “There’s where Zephryn is.”

From this height those mountains looked diminutive, little more than anthills, but once we were down there, they’d rise above us, taller than Mount Sylvan, minus the snowcap.

“Once Simon arrives, we have to penetrate that shield.” Raziel studied the ward carefully, the magic still undimmed even after all this time. “Their protections are strong, and I have no doubt we’ll be shredded apart if we try to step through.”

I squinted, seeing everything I’d missed before.

The bottom of the crater and the sides of every mountain were littered with bleached white bones, the curved ribcages of once-powerful dragons, skulls with empty eye sockets glaring angrily in death, as if they were still hanging onto the last shreds of their vicious hate.

“This place is a graveyard,” I muttered softly.

The back of my neck never stopped prickling, the weight of watching eyes crawling up and down my spine as I wondered what evil things hid behind these rocks.

“I didn’t expect the ward to still be working. The last time we were here…” Torin’s eyes took on a far-off gleam, as if replaying an old memory. “The dragons were tearing each other apart. I wasn’t sure there’d be anything left. But Simon and I can get through the magic.”

“I don’t see activity,” I offered lamely, adding, “but we’re being watched.”

“I feel them, too. Many of them, whatever they are, but I haven’t seen anything yet,” Raziel said carefully.

The air glittered with raw magic, pure, unadulterated power coating our every breath, surrounding the dim sun with a vague outline of color. “Do you think the stone gives off magic?” I asked softly. “Or is this residual power left over from the dragons?”

“It has to be the stone,” Torin decided, scanning the sky for any sign of a golden owl. “This island has been abandoned for three centuries. There’s no ward that can survive that long without being replenished.”

“Replenished how?”

“By feeding more magic into the structure on a regular basis or by blood.” She looked worried. “Like the blood sacrifices performed by Solok during the Scythings. Those weren’t totally without merit. They did, on some level, bolster the ward’s integrity.”

I drew my other weapon, shifted to a better fighting position on the seer’s other side, and let more of my magic seep into the air around us, staining the air blue-black.

“Darkhold.” Raziel peered through the mists to the empty, silent island. “I always thought this place was a myth. To actually be here…I have to admit, this is pretty fucking amazing.”

Not the word I’d use to describe this hellhole as we drowned in the sulfurous odors and ravenous power seeping from the glittering black stone all around us.

“Zephryn is right there.” Torin gazed longingly at that peak. “On the western face, about halfway up. Trapped inside a prison of obsidian.”

“Let’s get inside the ward first.” The hair on my arms lifted.

Simon landed softly beside us, transforming into his Fae form the second his feet touched the ground, pulling Torin against him, his fingers digging in deep as he clung to her. She unbelted her dress—which it turned out was actually a robe—and swung the thin fabric over his shoulders.

The shifter looked beyond ridiculous wrapped up in a finely embroidered white robe, but there was no fear or hesitation in his eyes when they met mine.

“Torin and I were given sanctuary by King Zyghon himself. We’ve pored over the laws of Darkhold’s histories, and we believe we can pass through the ward. So long as one of you is touching us, you can pass through, too. Raziel and I will go first. If we make it past the ward, I’ll signal you.”

I was already protesting halfway through his speech. “You believe? That’s not good enough for me. We’re not risking our lives on a guess. Even if your friend is still alive, none of this matters if we all die trying to get through the ward.”

“We’re sure this will work,” Torin said quietly. “You have to trust us, Zor.”

Laughter burst out of me. “Trust you? Torin, you’ve lied so many times before and this time…this time the stakes are personal.” Every single part of me was screaming for us to get off this island. “And when the stakes are personal, people have a habit of sacrificing others to get their way, so forgive me if I have my doubts.”

“I’ll do it,” Raz volunteered, and I fought my urge to strangle him where he stood.

“No. We can’t take the chance.” When he turned to me and glared, I bared my teeth. “I’m not taking a chance with your life. This is…”

The bastard didn’t even wait for me to finish. He grabbed Simon’s arm and disappeared. A minute later, through the mists and the glowing ward, two small forms reappeared in the center of the crater, the one in the robe raising a hand to flip me off.

“See? It worked. Let’s go, Zorander.” Torin took my arm. “One day, you’ll learn not to doubt me.”

I ground my teeth together. I didn’t bother telling her that would never happen, and then, between one breath and the next, we stood beside them in the crater, taking stock of our dismal surroundings.

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